A Many Splendoured Thing
by Nessa Luinwe
Summary: Balthier reminisces about how he and Fran first met... Continues up to and beyond the events of the game.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is going to (hopefully) be a proper story and not just a one-shot like I seem to be stuck on writing at the moment. The idea for it kept running through my head and wouldn't go away until I'd written it, so I gave in and this is what I came up with. Hope it's ok, and please leave a comment if you read because every single one of them helps me and pushes me to keep writing and improving. :D

**Disclaimer: **Bah, you know the story. I don't own Final Fantasy XII nor any of its characters.

Balthier was bored and exasperated. The orphans were arguing ceaselessly over some trifling thing in such raised, whiny voices that they were giving him a headache. The Princess was in her usual moody humour, and was having a heated discussion with Basch that wasn't entirely unlike that of Vaan and Penelo. Fran was unusually not with her partner. She had some maintenance to do on the _Strahl_, and she had always told him that she preferred to go about her work alone. So he would respect her wishes and try and amuse himself by sitting in the cockpit and pouring over an old map, deciding where next they would travel to. But today it just wasn't working. Today he couldn't concentrate.

It was often when Balthier was bored and exasperated that his thoughts began to wander. And they often wandered to exactly the same memory—when he and Fran had first met.

He could remember that night so clearly.

Shame he couldn't remember the name of the girl he'd been with at the time as clearly, but she was never destined to be the leading lady of his story, and so she was reduced to a merely unlucky extra in his memory.

He'd been in the Sandsea tavern, in the city of Rabanastre. The girl (some 'lady of the night' or some such that would do almost anything a man asked of her for money) had been draped over his shoulder. He'd been about to suggest that they went somewhere a little more comfortable and a little less crowded when the door had been thrown open, and he'd turned round in reflex curiosity to see who was walking into the tavern.

And then he'd lost his breath.

A Viera? His first thought had been, when he'd recovered his composure and was able to think again. Not entirely rare—a few Viera had been seen walking the streets of this city before then—but still, enough of a shock that she had silenced the entire tavern with her entrance. But she was exceedingly beautiful. That was more likely to be the reason for the silence of the tavern's clientele than the fact that she was a Viera. Balthier could already see the majority of the male population grinning in appreciation and the sight angered him unexpectedly. She should not be gawped at in such an ugly fashion—she was practically a goddess. Someone to be worshipped and adored. Had he not thought it too melodramatic, he would have fallen to his knees in front of her and pledged his entire life to her there and then.

His second thought had been the realisation that something was not quite right. The Viera was breathing heavily, as though she had been running for a long time, and her ruby red eyes were darting anxiously from side to side as though looking for someone. Or looking out for someone, he corrected himself. She leaned heavily on the doorframe, seeming to not want to put any weight on her left leg, which was lifted slightly from the ground. Although her face was indeed exotically exquisite, her cocoa-coloured skin looked pale and drawn, and her snowy white mane of hair fell limp and lifeless over her shoulders. Injured, he asked himself? He was suddenly overcome with the strong desire to tear apart anything that would even think of hurting this decadent being.

"Balthier? Balthier!"

His third thought had been the longing to possess the ability to make the girl on his shoulder disappear. He was about to take a deep breath and answer her as politely as possible when the Viera moved forwards into the tavern and caught his attention again.

Yes, she was definitely injured. She moved slowly; the inherent grace of the Viera somewhat lost due to her left leg buckling whenever she placed weight on it. But her head was held high and proud, and the pain that the leg must have been causing her did not show on her timeless face. She walked past the tables of gaping men, ignoring both their lecherous stares and Balthier's inquisitive gaze. When she reached the bar she placed her hands on the counter and leaned forwards, resting her weight on them and once again lifting the left leg off of the ground. As she raised her head to speak to a bewildered Tomaj, she spoke in the quiet, level tones of the Viera, but with a strong and steady voice.

"Please... could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

It looked like an effort for her to keep her voice polite, and Balthier smiled to himself.

Tomaj nodded quickly and turned to pour her the drink. The Viera eased herself onto a stool and sat stiffly, her eyes closing for a moment. She must be in pain, Balthier realised, and frowned. The thought made him upset somehow.

"Balthier, are you even listening to me?" The girl again. She was getting impatient; he must have been ignoring her. Reluctantly he turned his gaze from the Viera to look at her, and said smoothly,

"I am afraid I'm not in the mood tonight."

The girl stared at him in disbelief, and then gave him a flirty smile and moved her hands over his chest. "But you're always in the mood," she said seductively.

Balthier shook his head. "No. Not tonight." He glanced back at the Viera. She had received the water and was drinking it quickly, like someone who hadn't had a drink all day and was parched of thirst.

"Balthier," the girl whined.

He gave a low sigh and looked fixedly at her. "I said no. Go away."

The girl gave him a glare, and then stood and flounced out of the tavern.

Finally, he thought. He was free to observe the Viera without interruption.

But when he looked back at her again, he scowled.

One of the drunken men at the bar who had been ogling her when she'd walked in was now sidling closer to her, a large grin on his face. The Viera didn't move, but Balthier thought he saw her hands grip the glass of water a little more firmly, as though she didn't trust herself to keep them still.

"Hello darlin'," the man drawled lazily. "Fancy a bit of fun tonight?"

The Viera's mouth became a hard, thin line, and she took a moment before she answered, "No."

"Aw, come on," the man insisted, moving even closer. Balthier ground his teeth together as he watched.

"No," repeated the Viera coldly. She was perfectly still, and her hands were still tightly holding the glass. She looked as though she wanted to throw it at the man.

He looked insulted. "Dressed like that, ya must want it sweetheart."

It took a moment for Balthier to realise what he'd meant. Dressed like what? Oh, like _that_. He hadn't even really noticed. The Viera wore body armour—a Viera warrior, perhaps?—that was effective and yet left little to the imagination, curling around her body and leaving a lot of skin showing. He supposed it was a strange choice of body armour, but it gave the man at the bar no excuse to be hounding her as he was. One of Balthier's fists clenched under his table as the man dropped a hand on her shoulder. The Viera tensed.

"Now, what do you say we go upstairs and I show you a good time?" His head was almost on her shoulder now too, and the Viera leaned away from him slightly, her face still composed but with thunder and lightning in her eyes.

"Take your hand off of me," she said sharply. The man didn't comply.

"Come on, doll, I know you're gagging for it," he said lecherously.

Balthier rose from the table and was at the bar in three strides. He pushed the drunken man backwards until his hand slipped from the Viera's skin.

"The lady said no," Balthier reminded him frostily. The man looked up at him, scowling.

"Who d'ya think you are, mate? What, are you her bodyguard or sumfink?"

Balthier's blood boiled and he would have hit the man before him had he not heard the slight sound of the stool moving behind him. He turned to see the Viera had stood, again with the left leg raised, and was giving him an icy glare, before dropping some money on the counter for the water and turning to limp out of the tavern. She'd hardly managed to drink half the glass before being driven out of there by this detestable drunkard.

Balthier watched her leave, and then turned back to the man and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Tomaj watched anxiously.

"Balthier," he pleaded in reminder, glancing around his tavern fearfully.

"It's all right, Tomaj, I won't cause you any trouble," Balthier placated him with a brief smile, and then glared again as he turned back to the quivering man he was holding by the shirt. Balthier spoke harshly.

"You ought to remember your manners next time you are in the presence of such a lady, my friend." He shook the man slightly to emphasise his point, and then let him drop to the floor and walked away, leaving some money for his drinks with Tomaj and then exiting the tavern. The man was still in a heap on the floor when he left.

Outside, Balthier was torn. The Viera was obviously hurt and in need of somewhere to rest, but if he obliged his sudden desire to follow her and offer his help, how was he any different from the lecherous drunks in the tavern who had hounded her for attention? He knew he was, of course; there was no way he would have forced himself upon her like that, but how could she see any difference? On the other hand, if he didn't follow her, he'd berate himself for the rest of his life for not having tried.

Sighing, he trudged off down the street in search of her.

He didn't have to look far.

He found her by the fountain in the Southern Plaza, sat on the edge with her head hung low and her breathing laboured. Her limp ears picked up slightly at the sound of his approach, but then fell back against her head. She did not look up, and appeared to be trying to melt into the background, but for one such as her that would have been impossible.

Balthier stood a few feet away, unsure of what to say. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, until Balthier realised the situation was becoming ridiculous and settled for asking,

"Are you all right?"

Without lifting her head, the Viera answered him quietly.

"I am well. Please leave me alone."  
He studied her with a raised eyebrow. 'Well' was the last thing he could have said about her. She looked withered and near to collapse.

"I loathe leaving you in such a state. You appear to need some assistance," he insisted.

Her head snapped up and her red eyes flashed at him in a warning. "I require no help from Humes," she replied icily. She closed her eyes then, and he saw the muscles of her body tighten as if in preparation for some great effort, and she stood slowly and carefully, wincing when she forgot her injured leg and lifting it up immediately. Balthier moved a step forward, but the angry look in her eyes made him stay where he was. She limped towards him instead, and stopped about a foot away from him. She looked as though she were about to say something to him, but then stopped and shut her eyes tightly, wincing in pain. Balthier reached a hand out to her and then pulled it back hesitantly.

"My dear, are you really all right? Let me help you," he pleaded, suddenly feeling extremely protective of this injured Viera he had only known for a few minutes.

She was swaying slightly, but her face still looked annoyed as she murmured,

"Do not... call me... that... I..." she broke off, and then suddenly fell forwards.

He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground, and looked down at her, shocked.

She was unconscious, with no sign of waking anytime soon.

He sighed. Now he had an unconscious, injured Viera to add to his already mountainous troubles. Why did he always get himself into such messes?

Sighing again, he lifted the Viera into his arms carefully and set off towards the tavern he was staying at for the time. Once there, he spoke to the landlord and asked him to allow the Viera to stay in his room for a while, at no charge to her. The landlord had stared suspiciously at the man with the unconscious Viera in his arms, but as soon as Balthier said resignedly that he would pay for himself and the Viera as well as a 50% tip on top, the landlord had hastily agreed and made the appropriate arrangements.

It was only as Balthier made his way up the stairs to the small room that had become his home for the past month that he realised there was only one bed in the room.

"No matter," he told himself. "She can have the bed, and I'll take the chair. She looks more in need of a bed than I anyway."

As he entered the room, closing the door behind him with his foot, he turned and gently set the Viera on top of the bed, remembering to be careful of her leg. He couldn't see any exterior injuries to speak of, and, satisfied that she was not in any immediate danger, he drew back. He wished he could have given her something more comfortable to lie on—he knew from experience that that bed was as hard as a rock. He wondered briefly if she was cold, though he hadn't seen her shivering. He reasoned with a small smile that if she wore that outfit all the time, the cold must not bother her that much. Still...

He reached out a hand and softly laid it against the skin of her forehead. She seemed warm enough, but perhaps she would appreciate a blanket anyway.

He managed to find one in the chest of drawers opposite the bed. It wasn't exactly thick and warm, but it was better than nothing. Balthier carefully laid it across the Viera's sleeping form and drew it up to just below her shoulders. She hadn't moved since he'd put her on the bed, and only the steady movement of her chest rising up and down as she breathed showed that she was alive. Balthier recognised the heavy sleep of someone who was absolutely exhausted, and wondered how long it had been since she'd been able to find proper rest.

With a sigh, he went over to the chair and tried to get into a comfortable enough position to sleep, but it was much too small a chair for his tall form to curl up in, and so he had to settle for simply sitting in it and hunching down a little, so he could rest his head on the backrest. Realising that he would probably wake up with a massive crick in his neck, he sighed again and tried to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Sorry this took so long! I wrote half of it a while back and wasn't sure how to carry on with it, so I left it. But I came back to it the other day and finished it off, and this is what I've come up with. Hopefully it's okay! Chapter 3 will probably be a bit easier to write, so it might be up a lot quicker. :D Hope you enjoy! **

Balthier awoke to the sound of the Viera tossing and turning on the bed. He yawned tiredly and stretched, wincing when his bones creaked and his muscles protested. Glancing over to the bed, he watched the Viera.

She was clearly in some distress. Writhing from one side to the other, a deep frown on her perfect face and her hair tangled on the pillow, her breathing was fast and uneven; and he saw her body jerk reflexively every time her bad leg was jostled.

Getting up from the chair and trying to get his limbs to work properly, Balthier crossed over to the bed and hovered over it. He wasn't exactly sure what to do. The Viera needed her sleep, but this was evidently not a peaceful sleep. He didn't want her to hurt her leg any more than it was already, and if she carried on twisting and turning like this she would do. His mind made up, he reached out a hand to gently shake her awake and lightly touched her shoulder.

The minute his fingers touched her skin, the next thing he knew he couldn't breathe. He looked down in shock to find that one of the Viera's hands was tight around his throat; her dangerous nails seconds away from slicing the skin to ribbons. He glanced back up and his eyes met her blood-red ones, angry and fierce and awake.

"Who are you?" she demanded sharply in the exotic accent of the Viera. Balthier realised that she must not remember what had happened the previous night. He choked and looked pointedly at the hand clasped around his neck, and she released the pressure very slightly, enough to allow him to talk but nothing else.

"I believe... I saved your life last night," he gasped, trying to get more air. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"That does not tell me who you are," she said coldly, looking right into his eyes. He found it disconcerting, and took too long to answer; the Viera's hand started tightening once more. He choked again and she released her hold a little.

"The name's... Balthier," he rasped, his lungs burning for want of air. "Please... you wouldn't mind... releasing me, would you?" he wheezed. She gave him a quick look over, probably searching for weapons, he realised, and then slowly let go of him. He bent over, coughing as he tried to get his breath back. The Viera, her sudden fury seemingly dispelled, fell back onto the bed. Her eyes still searched him, however.

"I have heard of you... you are a sky pirate, yes?" she asked him. Balthier immediately recovered, giving the Viera a cheeky grin.

"You've heard of me, have you?"

"You stole an airship from underneath the noses of the Draklor Laboratory, did you not?" She looked neither impressed nor disapproving. "It is difficult not to have heard of you. The wanted posters speak for themselves."

Balthier's mood brightened considerably. "Wanted posters?" he repeated, rubbing his neck lightly and settling back into the chair. He'd never had wanted posters put up about him before. There were some who would say that a sixteen year old boy should not be pleased that most of Ivalice wanted him to hang, but those were the sorts of people Balthier had run from. Not Balthier... Ffamran, the child. Ffamran, the boy. Ffamran... his father's son.

Still, the Viera didn't need to know any of that now. To her, he would be Balthier, and nothing more. He smiled at her. "Wanted posters... how intriguing."  
She cocked her head to one side, but didn't say anything. He sighed. "Yes, I'm a sky pirate. And I am the proud new owner of a brand new airship. But what about you, my dear? I still don't know _your_ name," he pointed out with a grin.

Her eyes flashed when he called her 'my dear', but she let it pass. She turned her head to look out of the window. "Fran," she said simply.

"Fran?" he repeated, surprised at how simple the name was. "I was expecting to have to ask you to say it again; most Viera I have come across have unpronounceable names. It seems you are quite unique, Fran," he smiled, but she didn't return it. She just continued to meet his gaze, seeming to look straight into his soul. He felt a little shiver run up and down his spine. He shook himself, and tried to change the subject of the conversation. "So... I take it you don't remember a thing about last night?" he asked her.

She finally looked away from him, down to the floor. "Partly," she answered shortly. "I remember that you apparently decided I was an invalid," she added, a spark of fire in her eyes. Balthier noted it and took care with his answer.

"Not an invalid," he corrected her. "But I did think you'd be better able to go on your way after a good rest and some food and drink. That leg of yours looks to be quite injured," he told her, wondering if she would elaborate.

She paused before answering. "A wound I acquired whilst hunting. Nothing more. It shall heal itself in a few days," she said coolly.

"Then you are planning to take your leave of me?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.  
"As soon as possible; yes."

"Well now, that is a shame," he murmured, smiling slightly.

"And why is that?" she asked him, arching her own eyebrow.

"Because I was planning on offering you a job."

**Author's Note: I also just wanted to add that I'm trying to remember that Balthier's only 16 years old at this stage, so he wouldn't have quite mastered the suave, charming persona that we're all used to. He'd still be a bit young and naive. So I hope that comes across! As always, if you enjoyed then please review; they all help me to get better. And thank you so much if you've been waiting for this and are still reading! See you next chappie :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Let me just say here that I'm extremely grateful for all the lovely reviews I've been getting, and thank you for your constructive criticisms too; I take it all into account and I'm trying to improve with every chapter I write, so hopefully it's working! I'm rubbish at replying to people; university is pretty much sucking up all my time at the moment, so please don't be offended if I haven't replied to you; I DO read all my reviews and I'm very happy to get them. And I'll try and be better at replying in future :D Hope you enjoy this chappie!**

"A job?"

The Viera's eyes were narrowed; clearly, she didn't trust him. He noticed her muscles tensed as she sat in the bed, watching him, as though she would quite easily leap across the room and throttle him again if he said something she didn't like; even with her injuries.

"That's what I said." Balthier relaxed back into the chair, looking back at her calmly. He was quite aware of what could happen to him should he say the wrong thing, and yet it was hardly the behaviour of a leading man to crumble under pressure. He may still be young, but he was determined not to be outdone by this Viera who had quite suddenly become part of his life. "A job. I am in need of someone to employ, and I have reason to believe that you may be able to perform the services I require."

Her eyes flashed, and although he didn't show it in his expression, Balthier's heart sped up slightly. There was nothing in his words to give her reason to be angry, was there?

"I have seen this before," Fran said coldly. "Male Humes who are of the opinion that a daughter of the Wood may be persuaded to carry out certain... activities in return for money."

_Oh bollocks. _He was in trouble now.

Balthier laughed a little nervously. "Oh no, my dear; you misunderstand me."

"Is that so?" Fran demanded harshly, her eyebrows arched.

Balthier cleared his throat. "Yes. When I said services, I was not thinking of... of that," he explained hurriedly, wishing his voice hadn't cracked in the middle of his sentence. "You see... I am in need of a mechanic and navigator. For my airship," he added, eager to clarify the situation before she felt the need to sharpen her claws on his throat. "A captain cannot fly an airship single-handedly, after all."

"And what makes you think that I am the one you seek?" Fran inquired, still watching him carefully.

"Well... three reasons, really," Balthier answered her thoughtfully. "First of all... the fact that you knew I had stolen an airship from Draklor suggests you have some interest in airships, which in turn suggests that you have some interest in either becoming a sky pirate yourself, or working for one. Secondly, your injuries suggest that you were recently involved in a rather dangerous fight, and your armour suggests that you often find yourselves in such situations and furthermore, that you know how to get yourself out of them alive. And thirdly..." Here he paused, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Thirdly, I believe I have a lot to learn from one such as you."

Fran was silent as she listened to his reasoning, processing what he was saying. Finally, she spoke. "Your skills of deduction are impressive," she complimented him. "But you have not yet told me why it is that you believe me able to become your mechanic or navigator."

"Ah," he grinned. "Well now, let's see... When you entered the tavern last night, you had the look of a Viera who has been wandering the world of Ivalice for some time, and not that of a youngster who has only just struck out on her own. You seem sure and comfortable with what is going on around you. This leads me to believe that you have travelled extensively, and would therefore know more of the world than I am like to; hence, you pass the test for navigation skills. Therefore, if I am right in believing you to be interested in airships, it is likely you would have been around airships before, having spent so long away from your homeland and amongst Humes. Perhaps you have even travelled or worked on one before. And if so, you would make the perfect mechanic." He looked at her triumphantly, proud of himself. "Well? Am I right?"

Fran sat up a little straighter and crossed her long legs carefully over each other, taking her time before answering him. "All of your presumptions are indeed correct," she confirmed evenly and somewhat reservedly.

Balthier folded his arms, smirking. "As I thought." He looked her over, waiting for her to say more, but she was silent, her eyes looking out of the window at the bright sunshine outside. "Well?" Balthier asked her again. "What say you to my proposal?"

"Do I not get time to consider my response?" Fran asked with a slight hint of amusement in her voice, her head turning towards him again.

Balthier waved a hand dismissively. "All the time you need. Let me fetch you something to eat whilst you deliberate." He got up from the chair and headed towards the door.

"Just some water, please," Fran said before he walked out of the room. "I have no appetite for Hume food."

He frowned, wondering what it was she had been eating if 'Hume food' was not to her tastes, but he simply nodded and left the room.

When he left, Fran swung her legs over to the side of the bed and stood easily. Her leg was still causing her pain, but it was not at all as bad as she had let Balthier believe. She had learnt long ago that when in unfamiliar surroundings, it was very advantageous to allow someone to believe you were weak and then take them by surprise if needed later on. She still wasn't sure whether to trust this Hume; after all, he was barely out of childhood. She would guess him to be in his mid to late teens; hardly a man. And yet there was something about him, about the way he spoke and the way he carried himself, that was more mature and more established than any normal boy his age. Something that was telling her she _could_ trust him.

She shook her head slightly. She didn't have time to think; she had to be quick. Who knew when he would return again? As she moved around the room, checking to see if there was anything worthwhile to take with her, she found herself looking for her bow and frowned when she remembered she no longer _had_ a bow. If only she hadn't been careless and allowed it to be stolen...

Fran's ears twitched suddenly as she heard footsteps; the Hume's footsteps. Kneeling down to make sure her armour was placed securely around her legs again (the Hume had evidently removed it when he'd placed her on the bed), she lifted her head just as he came through the door, looking slightly surprised to see her up and about.

"I see your leg is better," he said mildly, slowly placing the glass of water on the side table. His eyes were narrowed; it was obvious he didn't like being taken for a fool.

Fran straightened up and crossed to the side table. "So it appears," she said coolly, and lifted the glass, drinking the contents in one go. When she had finished, she placed the glass back onto the table and nodded at Balthier. "Thank you for the water," she told him shortly, and turned to walk through the door.

"And have you considered my offer of employment?" Balthier called after her.

Fran stopped, and turned around. "Yes," she replied evenly. "And my answer is no." Then she turned and walked away, closing the door behind her.

Balthier stared after her for a moment and then sighed. A slow smile spread across his face, and he shook his head. "Balthier, you're a complete and utter idiot if you let that one get away," he told himself sharply, and set about preparing to go after her.


End file.
